Commuters

8am

trudging over tarmac

in metal carriages

trapped amongst the throng;

the squeeze and release of the giant accordian

that concertinas at junctions, lights

and roundabouts

Whose tune resonates

with the blaring of horns

blasted by the impatients

and the impotents

The ASSHOLES

as I like to call them.

5pm

We begin again

From the top

with a weary 1,2,3,4

Prisoners sporting leaden yolks,

harnessed to mortgages,

card repayments,

bills.

Forced into the dance

as the accordian repeats its tune

over and over

Ad infinitum

Peering over the wheel a lonely driver spots

a leaf, pirouetting

along the white line

that keeps us in our lanes

The wind lifting and releasing it

as it relishes the short burst of freedom

reserved for later life

before it is bedbound by rains

or trapped under a tyre

to turn to mulch

and disappear forever.